


In the Long Spear Grass

by Shut_up_its_our_AU



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, M/M, Overstimulation, Pining, Suffering, assassination attempt, mutations, no beta reading we die like Witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22920136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shut_up_its_our_AU/pseuds/Shut_up_its_our_AU
Summary: Jaskier finally gets someone to hire a professional to rid the Continent of him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 74
Kudos: 368
Collections: Is A Mutant Still A Witcher?





	1. Cat’s Eye

The day had been young, the pair sat at the last inn on the way to winter, sitting across from each other at the table, sleepy heads rubbing the tire from their eyes over a short breakfast of bread and mead to loosen the pair of them, or more the bard, to the idea of parting ways for the icey season when they’d get to the fork in the road. Geralt had been preoccupied with thoughts of how to ease the separation when his medallion jumped like an excited squirrel, confusing both him and Jaskier while the barkeeps daughter brought them each their drinks. Geralt scanned the room while Jaskier flirted with the girl and took a deep pull on his mead when the Witcher caught the glimmer of silver across the room, hung around the neck of what he had thought was the barkeep, a feline head on a sturdy chain, “Jaskier wait—“

He was interrupted by a loud and shuddering gasp as his companion gripped his chest, suddenly flushing pale and falling into a sweat. His eyes wide, Geralt watched with horror as blue was overwhelmed by black, pupils blown far too wide as his tears turned bloody and his hands shook as he gripped the table.

“Geralt-“ He croaked, hoarse, knocking over his cup as blue spilled over the wood and Jaskier saw everything, he felt like his head was about to explode, he could see colors his brain couldn’t handle, he could see a child still in her mother’s womb and hear its tiny heartbeat from all the way upstairs. He clamped his eyes shut but he could see through his eyelids. He covered his ears tightly but he could hear through his hands, hear his hammering heart and the carried pulses of blood through his veins, “Geralt....”

The White Wolf was up and over to his side as quickly as his unnatural speed allowed, the Cat assassin fleeing the scene as he hurried to act. He didn’t need to examine the fallen cup to know the poison inside, a Witcher’s potion, Cat, how fitting. He bit his tongue as he pulled his lark into his arms and hurried them both outside to Roach, the bard giving an agonized scream at the overwhelming flood of information that came with heading outside. 

“It’s too much! Geralt please!” He begged, his voice soft and raspy in his mouth but an overwhelming echo in his head, “Make it stop, make it stop...” 

There was no cure for humans that imbibed mutant potions, even White Honey was toxic, while it would have simply burned the poisons from Geralt’s blood it would have stopped Jaskier’s heart in his chest and Geralt couldn’t stand that. He had to act, he had to save him. He didn’t drag Dandelion all over the gods fucked continent and saved him from countless horrors to let him die. Not like this. He drew his cloak around Jaskier, holding him against his chest, blindfolding him best he could as he spurred Roach to ride, fast as she could to the only place with any hope of saving his bard, the taste of grass sour in his teeth as the only solution to his fate rang like alarm bells in his mind. Only Witchers could survive their potions.

The dense forest of the mountains surrounding Kaer Morhen loomed high, shaking their branches at them with the breeze. Roach wheezed but would not heed the calls to slow, her ears turned back to Jaskier’s wheezing breathing, whinnying and wrestling the reins from Geralt’s hands as she raced for the keep, turning a two day ride into half of one day, her hooves bleeding and her breathing ragged, causing a commotion at the gate and earning the attention of Eskel as he hurried from the stables, likely just arriving himself, and opened the metal portcullis.

“Roach? Geralt, she’s bleeding-“ he went to scold his peer before catching the knit look of terrorized concern on his face and noting the darkly grabbed figure against his chest, “What happened?”

“A Cat assassin fed him one of our potions.” Geralt curtly replied, hopping from Roach only to be trailed by her into the outer courtyard.

“Shit.” Eskel hissed, “He’s going to die.”

“I won’t let him.” He snipped, jaw locked and solidified as he didn’t leave room for any confusion to his plan.

“The trial will kill him!” Eskel was shocked at the unvoiced declaration.

“Then he dies either way!” Geralt turned on his friend, face frantic, “At least the trial would be more merciful than this.”

Eskel’s jaw shut, he gently laid his hand on Geralt’s shoulder, voicing his concern and support in a manner only Witchers could, “I’ll get Vesemir. Bring him to the keep.”

And with that the man that was most like a brother to Geralt ran off, scaling a ladder to beat him into the hold and get the help they would need. Once inside the massive wooden doors he was faced by his mentor with some expected judgment.

“Geralt do you even know what you’re asking?” Vesemir went to start but Geralt turned on him with a sneer.

“You know I do.” He bared his teeth as Jaskier groaned quietly as he could, “You ask as if I would forget.”

“What was he given?” Vesemir backed down, following his reckless child deeper into the hold.

“Cat.” He replied, only mildly soothed by the cooperation.

“Then we have time, how long since last he ate?” The elder Witcher went to prepare as he asked for more information, it would tell him how to proceed in this unprecedented occasion, “And has he slept since?”

“Last night, the potion was the first thing he had this morning. He hasn’t slept.”

“I can’t.” Jaskier sobbed, “I can’t find peace enough to sleep....”

“I’ve sent Eskel to find what we need with Lambert. We’ll start as soon as they return, I don’t know the whole of it but it should hopefully be enough.”

“He just needs to be able to survive.” Geralt replied, gently laying his bard down on the table that would either serve as his bed or his tomb. Jaskier took Geralt’s hand weakly in his own, trembling.

“I can feel....the stone of the floor...there’s a cricket on it.” Dandelion mused with pained humor, “I’m not on the floor...”


	2. Of Herbs and Their Uses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are no surviving records on how to complete the Trial of Grasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt owes Lambert a drink

“You owe me a drink Geralt.” Lambert spat blood at the ground and wiped his mouth callously as he tossed Vesemir the Phylactery, “I came home for some rest, not to chase components for the Trial.”

“Consider it owed.” Geralt nodded from his seat, still holding Jaskier’s hand, the bard put to a soothed haze by Vesemir’s skillful herbal work, black eyes searched the ceiling but he said nothing.

“I also gathered some stabilizers I learned from a School of the Bear Witcher in Skellige.” Eskel recounted, pulling a large weed of Thistle from his pack and Spear Grass, “They’re supposed to reduce the shock.”

“How?” Vesemir approached, “We need all the advantages we can get.”

“We need them mixed with Ginatia and Hemp.” He replied, pulling the ingredients from his bag, “We don’t need much but if we use too little he’ll feel everything. Too much? The Trial will fail.”

“A painkiller at a gamble.” Vesemir mused, “What do you propose Geralt? You have the most stake in this.”

“We can’t risk the Trial failing... There has to be something else.” Geralt looked over his well drugged bard who stared mindlessly over the top of his nose as if it was his first time seeing it.

“Hemp is the offender in making the Trial ineffective, why not replace it with a stabilizer? Albedo?” Eskel offered

“It would lose some of its strength.” Vesemir hummed, looking through the shelves, “Honeysuckle perhaps? In exchange of the Thistle in the potion?”

“It would act as a painkiller.” Geralt hummed, “A medic in Vizima was eager to get a hold of some.”

“So that’s settled then?” Eskel asked, “Modify the recipe to acquire a correct result?”

“Not quite, we only have part of the Trial here. I do not know the rest.” Vesemir confessed, “I had never imagined myself taking this task on at all.”

“What does this portion of the Trial even do?” Lambert questioned, leaning against a wall.

“It makes the body susceptible to mutation.” The elder Witcher replied.

“I can feel all my hair.” Jaskier whispered, Geralt casting a glance his way to show the bard he was listening, “It makes me....I am physically incapable of panic right now....”

“Glad to know the potion’s working.” Geralt grunted with a touch of amusement.

“So if the first part of the Trial is just to leave him open to mutation why not pick out the mutations we want to give him ourselves, we’re not making another Witcher here.” Lambert offered, garnering the attention of every sober individual in the room, “We know how to make them, we know what they do too. So what do we want for this...he’s a bard?”

“His name’s Jaskier.” Geralt replied.

“Jaskier, what do we want for Geralt’s bard, Jaskier.” Lambert pointedly mentioned Jaskier being Geralt’s to Eskel’s poorly hidden amusement.

“What a piece of language.” Vesemir shook his head with a laugh.

“To survive.” Geralt reminded them.

“So poison resistance.” Eskel offers, “Longevity will most likely be a consequence of improving his constitution.”

“If that’s what it would take.” Geralt shrugged.

“First time playing god Geralt?” Lambert huffed out a laugh.

“Not a position I’m comfortable with.” Geralt admitted.

“He travels with you right? Well why not pull out all the stops? If the Trial succeeds then you could easily make sure he doesn’t face a real threat again. Need him to run? Stamina. Need him to be able to dodge faster? Increase his perception and flexibility. Longevity will keep him by your side for decades, he doesn’t need to be one of us but we could easily keep him safer if we take full advantage of this opportunity.” Lambert continued, “So Geralt, how safe do you want him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Build a Mutant Workshop


	3. Night Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High quality mutagens are dangerous to acquire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt owes Lambert another drink.

“Fuck you Geralt!” Lambert snapped, barely rolling out of the way in time to avoid the sharp swing of a carapace clad claw, “Of everything, absolutely anything, you picked the fucking Endrega?!”

“Good stock.” Geralt huffed. Bringing up his sword to block a striking leg from a worker that tried to pummel him only twice before he sliced the appendage with a counter swing, red spraying his face as he grimaced and pressed forward through the cluster of insects. Warriors scrambled over retreating workers to try their mandibles at the intruders to their territory, venom hissing at dry leaves as Geralt sidestepped, “Only need one anyway.”

“Yeah, the Queen! Brilliant plan.” Lambert groused before lunging a piercing jab into an abdomen.

“She’ll be here soon.” A hearty swing downward took the head of a charging endrega warrior while two more took the fallen’s place. An Igni sign lit a cocoon nearby on fire, the webbing melting as it fell from the tree. The last of the cocoons were further in but he shouldn’t need to ignite them to draw out their mother.

“How soon is soon? We’re crawling in bugs if you haven’t noticed.”

“We’re standing.” Geralt added for some dry humor as they pressed forward, some intrepid workers skittered into the fray but were quickly overcome as they cut down their larger protectors first.

“Make another joke Geralt, I’ll leave you to do this yourself.”

The reply was a grunt when the next surge of guarding insects hit, the numbers increased as they spattered in the blood of the Endrega hive, the sticky scent sticking to their clothes and hair, leaving it ropey and soaked.

The night prevailed around them as he scanned for the Queen, his eyes black, he gripped his sword as his mind struggled to focus solely on the battle, his mind returning to his bard. 

To him Cat let him see far in the darkness, perceive the light that only existed as the most minute of radiation, it turned the deep black bright like day and tuned his ears against the silence. It took 8 hours for it to wear away, but a Witcher’s metabolism was fast, even food didn’t sate for long, their skin pulled over their muscles in the first signs of malnutrition simply for running on a faster system. Jaskier wasn’t a Witcher, he was a human and what would take Geralt hours would take him weeks to process. They had attempted to get him to eat before leaving for the hunt but the bard’s face turned distressed when he swallowed before immediately vomiting it back up, gasping about how his stomach couldn’t take it. Cat didn’t kill by poison, it would slowly starve and dehydrate Jaskier while torturing him with an over abundance of stimulus, his newly sensitive organs panicking at any rejectable invaders. Vesemir had him under a potion’s effects of mental calm but only through a needle in his arm that supplied him with water now too. They had bought Geralt time, time to seek out this nest, time to gather what they would need to keep Jaskier alive.

He was evicted from his thoughts as the queen dropped from her tree with a hiss, spraying venom at the pair of Witchers that disturbed her, shaking her bulbous abdomen at them in warning. Geralt took up the task of keeping her attention, throwing a grapeshot bomb to her feet and hearing her loudly protest at the explosion as Lambert rolled to the side and out of her sight, watching for Geralt’s signal as he stuck close to her.

Yrden froze her in place, dazed, long enough for Lambert to place dancing star in the catch of her sturdy shell and flee out of range of the blast when shei woke and stepped forward, crushing the bomb and catching fire with a loud shriek but not dead yet.

“You said you fought this before.” Geralt growled as he dodged now flaming acid sprays.

“Never said I won!” The Witcher snipped back, parrying a fatal swipe as the Queen turned on him and Geralt took the window, dropping a heavy blow on the flaming midsection and hearing the strangled cry as the Queen turned to take him in her teeth before a loud cracking sound as Lambert landed the killing blow before force could be applied, sparing him the piercing of her maw. Geralt let his head fall back as he took a breath, staring up at the sky ever full of more stars past the trees.

Lambert dropped the vial of green light onto his chest, the mutagen procured at last, “You owe me another drink.”

“You owe me a drink.” Geralt huffed as he carefully clasped the bottle he wouldn’t let go of until he had it safely home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psych


	4. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trial begins and Jaskier isn’t exactly the running type.

Jaskier stared mindlessly up to the ceiling the creep of panic tugging on the corners as the potion wore off. They needed him to be as clear as he could be, they were starting something soon, a Trial? He couldn’t get up let alone run a Witcher trial, whatever that entailed, how was he supposed to run when he could feel even the thin fibers of the stockings on his feet, could sense the grit of dust on the floor. The skitter of insects, the crackle of fire, the wind sounded like whispers outside, his head lulled to the side to listen wordlessly to the air whistling by, a sound to focus on or try as the murmuring breeze became a howling static, joined by the cacophony of noise, breathing and speaking men, their words were nonsense in his ears. 

He opened his eyes, only now aware that they had been closed. Stone. Stone held together by more smaller stones and more even smaller stones. A centipede crawled into the crack in the ceiling it’s white chitin glimmering softly in the fire light. Shadows had...colors, men had auras, the glimmer of chaos around them, that dark haired Eskel had a light that shone just a little bit brighter. His head hurt.

Someone moved, he could hear their muscles stretch, the creak of the leather they wore, the shift of fabric, he let his head roll to the side to watch what he thought was an angel approach him, the firelight caught in his white hair and amber eyes saw him relax onto the table he lay on, a simple pillow under his head that he could hear shift with a foaming crackle.

“Geralt?” The bard whispered as the others moved into their places, sending off ripples of noise, he winced. 

“I’m here.” Came the reply, Jaskier’s brows knitted together, Geralt sounded so worried...

“What’s going on?” 

“We’re starting the trial soon.” His Witcher replied, taking one of his hands gently in his, “I need to secure you to the table.”

“How am I supposed to run a trial....strapped to a table?” His mind was too full of information for memories. But Geralt only shifted his expression, Jaskier watched the pull of his lips with wide eyed wonder. He didn’t protest the leather belt wrapped around his chest but gritted his teeth and groan as the noise rubbed across his teeth and his face screwed tight.

“Geralt....I...I need to say something.” Jaskier swallowed dryly, he felt weak, he hadn’t been able to keep down food in three days, his head was lightly and dizzy from hunger.

“Save it for when you wake up.” His Witcher replied, “look at me.”

Jaskier’s black eyes snapped to watch the man slowly and deeply breathe, matching his pacing as the others gathered around, securing him at the ankles and head to avoid thrashing before the bright glow of Eskel showed beside Geralt and guided a needle into his wrist and Jaskier’s breath hitched as he felt the bite of it and the metal tube that stayed in place after and blood pulled from him up into the glass chamber to pull out the air with a rubber stopper before the glass connector was used to attach two vials upside down from a hook to the rubber tube that led into his body, he wanted to escape. There was a way into his body from the outside and he clamped his eyes shut but it didn’t do anything.

“Breathe Jaskier.” Geralt’s presence washed over him like cool water as he took a shaky inhale he didn’t know he was holding, “Keep breathing.”

“It’s....it’s inside me...” 

“Shhhh, Eskel’s very good at his work.” A calloused hand brushed the sweat from his forehead, cool compared to his fever.

“What is it?” He tried to wet his mouth but it stayed drier than it should be.

“The first part of Trial boy.” Vesemir stepped in, “Your hope of survival.”

“I’m not really the athletic type.” Jaskier insisted to the chagrin of the group.

“It’s a potion Jaskier, it makes your body open to mutagens.” Geralt corrected as softly as he could manage, taking a seat beside his bard who looked at him with pallor.

“Isn’t that definitely deadly?” The bard winced as cold flushed up his veins when the stabilizer hit, “I suppose I’m already dying...”

“Humans aren’t meant to have our potions.” His Witcher replied, taking his hand to hold, “Follow my breathing, slow and steady.”

A long deep breath in, a short hold, a slow and longer breath out, Jaskier focused on the hush of breath and the expansion of lungs and diaphragm, he could hear Geralt’s slow heart beat, was almost sleepy when venom sunk into his body and his muscles seized. 

“Breathe.” The soft tenor of his Witcher insisted and he could only sob as he attempted, tears pooling from his eyes, flooding his all too clear view with tears as his chest shook. In, hold, out, hold. He clung to the pattern like a mantra as he felt the effects of the Trial climb through his body and toy with his heart as it stuttered to push it through. The world was slipping away from him, he only knew fire and tears and a hand held in his and in and hold and out and hold.

His audience wore expressions of anxious awaiting, Geralt alone speaking and only to continue to guide his bard as he slipped under the potion’s influence. Eskel readied the next set, each one delivered an hour apart from each other. Lambert stopped watching as Jaskier screamed, head attempting to snap back. He left the cellar they were hosting this demented task in under the ruse of hearing something.

At last, after a night of thrashing and incomprehensible hellish cries and broken leather bands, Jaskier slept, his breathing slow as his body started to adjust and take on the effects as its own, how well it would take could only be determined when he woke but for now....they were out of the thick of it.

“I never thought I’d see it.” Vesemir wiped his forehead when he sat on the now dead fireplace, “He survived...”

“That’s one tough bard of yours Geralt.” Eskel nodded, cleaning up from his work and the broken glass from when Jaskier had seized and tossed an empty vial from the table.

Geralt nodded, taking to bandaging what wounds there were as there were always wounds. Even if they had faded from time he still could trace the rope burns on his own wrists. 

“You love him don’t you Geralt.” Vesemir clucked, leaning against the wall when Geralt turned to eye him, “This is an awful amount of trouble for even a friend.”

“I’m not sure what love looks like.” He admitted after a pause to think. Yennefer has asked him the same thing and Geralt hadn’t answered, unsure how much to trust the sorceress but this was Vesemir, one of the best people he knew and it was easier to confide in the old Witcher than to keep secrets from him, “I might.”

“If you think you might then you probably do. You raced him here to save him, could have tried another path but you broke your own rules to see him live.” The elder pointed out.

“Isn’t that sort of what love is?” Eskel asked, “Breaking your own rules for them?”

How many of his rules had he let Jaskier break? Touching him, the snarky comments only replied to with a quirk of a smile were someone else would get an impatient retort. They had shared bedding and clothes and meals and despite being surrounded by what could only be the closest he had to family he always had wished Jaskier was there during their winters apart.

He looked down to see himself still holding Jaskier’s hand, he loved him, “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck


	5. Creeping Suspicions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A momentary rest can never stay restful for long when it’s a Witcher’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To kill a Troubadour

The ensuing days after the trial faired hardly better than the night of torment in a different manner. Confronted by his love he didn’t realize he had, Geralt was all the more torn when the screaming started. Jaskier cried for his Witcher in his sleep, sounding like a hunted beast, terror struck and desperate but unresponsive to any attempt to soothe, even the hands he pleaded for, holding him, were unrecognized and it only wretched the mutant more when weak arms tried to press him back. Geralt made home in that cellar, busied himself with cleaning the room, redressing bandages and Jaskier himself when the sweat soaked his clothes into damp press, the fever spiked, teeth bared, the bard even bit Geralt when he tried to ease him after screaming. He only ate when the others brought him food, only slept upright in the chair beside the table, only rested when he slept as love, forbidden as it seemed, seeped into him like venom. 

“Why are you doing this?” Lambert had asked.

“I wish someone had done so for me.” Geralt replied softly.

Three days in Eskel joined him downstairs, bringing a bedroll and a wineskin and the pair of them dug away at the lonely watch together to reminisce on their time in Jaskier’s spot.

“I slept for...two weeks.” Eskel scratched at his jaw, “Forever ago now, but I’m still sure they thought I was dead.”

“Silent sleeper.” Geralt mused as he took a drink, “If only he’d be silent.”

“Ha! You’d only worry all the more for it. So. Any thoughts on who wanted your bard dead so badly?” Geralt’s peer took a spot near the low fire to prod it into more life, “Or to suffer so much while he’s at it?”

“Some jilted paramour perhaps.”

“You honestly believe that?” 

“No.” the Witcher looked over to Jaskier during their small moment of peace, “Not like this.”

“What if they weren’t after him?” And with that question in the air Geralt froze. If the bard got into his own trouble then that was one thing, if he was getting killed or maimed because of Geralt then it was another, heart wrenching, bile tasting other that left him clutching his cup with white knuckles.

“How was he poisoned?” Eskel carefully pressed.

“The assassin slipped the potion into his drink and had a barmaid bring it over.” It was Geralt’s turn to scratch at his slowly filling beard as he considered the situation, “Hard to misinterpret ‘Give it to the big one with white hair’ though.” 

“Know any suspects then?” Eskel offered, gesturing in a vague manner of a shrug and a short sweep of his arms, “Anyone want the bard dead so badly as to pay off a Witcher to poison them?”

Geralt paused to chew the question over. Only turning with one of his own, “Why Cat?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why Cat, it would take a week to kill him, it’s not efficient and it’s a waste of potion.”

“Nightshade would have been faster.” The man agreed, scrying the ceiling now as if the pattern would give him an answer, “Cheaper too. Surely it’s not just to make him suffer right? Are people that awful?”

“Have you ever been stoned?” Geralt’s mouth felt dry just asking that. Sadly, Eskel nodded. 

“It still feels like we’re missing something.” Eskel watched as an unusually pretty white centipede scittered across the ceiling, raising a brow at it, “Looks like we have centipede problems again.”

“A little cold for them to be active isn’t it?” Geralt huffed, glad for the change in topic.

“I’m not sure.” He admitted, “Something doesn’t sit right.”

“There will plenty of time to hunt giant centipedes after he wakes up I’m sure.” Geralt chuckled, “Let’s hope it’s not as long as yours.”

“Agreed.” Eskel smiled and poured them each another cup as they waited in the cellar, occasionally joined by the others, shared meals down in the dark with a fire to warm their bodies and mead or wine to warm their temperaments as the days passed and their patient calmed from a frantic cry to a soft plead, his fever dropping, his skin regaining color as his new metabolism ate through the rest of the poison in his blood. At long last, Geralt and Jaskier both, truly slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter to address an unasked question and not answer it


	6. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where am I?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He lived!

Jaskier opened his eyes in the dark, adjusting slowly, feeling nauseous, he leaned over the edge of his table and wretched, gagging on the bile in his guts, no food remnants in sight. He worked on instinct, famished, taking a crust of bread from a plate on the fireplace and not hesitating to consume it and fall back against the stone wall to examine his surroundings. Four men lay on the floor, dozing softly in slumber, Geralt he recognized, another he remembered vaguely from his fever, he looked like a well scarred brother. An elder he would almost mistake for Geralt’s father, and one last, hair cut short, his entire visage sharp. He almost went to wake them when he heard a cry from outside, startling to his feet. A woman screamed again, anguished. He didn’t think, he ran, grabbing a dagger from the floor beside Geralt.

Stone steps led up into a wide keep, the towering shelves of books and the scaffolding of constant repair efforts built up around him like a maze as he followed the whimpering he heard in a cloudy disposition. It brought him outside, down into the inner courtyard and past the wide gate. He moved without thought, through the metal portcullis and into the snowy woods, the cold biting his feet as the sad moon shone brightly from her throne in the black sky. 

As the sound ceased he froze, standing in a clearing of high and dry grass that shook with the errant breeze. He heard clicking turned to face the sound and found himself staring up at the long and graceful centipede he had seen on the roof, it was now twice his length and it coiled its iridescence around him twice, squeezing him gently as he stood transfixed by the strange aura he felt about it. It’s head came to level with his, large insect eyes gazing into his. He felt a twinge and tug, pulling backwards on his mind as if to claim it and he shied away, closing his eyes and flicking his wrist, his blade cutting into the softer under belly of the creature, it’s hissing recoil pulling it back as he watched with perplexed horror as it scurried away from him. He only stared after it, “What the fuck...”

He followed his own tracks back to the keep, taking in the sight of the crumbling fortress with some awe as he made his way back in, the parapets and armory lay in fallen shadows of themselves, the gardens were patchy grass, the stables were the only thing well maintained. He strode into them to find Roach awake, nudging at her gate and mouthing the latch to open it. “Clever girl.” He cooed when she made her way out and pressed her head heavily to his chest, huffing.

“Is this Kaer Morhen? It’s more run down than I thought it would be.” He admitted, rubbing behind her ears and along her neck.

She huffed at him and pushed again.

“Geralt’s here then. I never thought he would let me see this place, though I think understand why. I would probably have insisted he winters somewhere that wasn’t falling apart.” He laughed before his stomach interrupted their reunion and he bid Roach farewell.

He was careful in making sure to shut the gates behind himself before he wandered the building, not tired, quite restless. He lit the fireplace near the windows and searched for food and water, reading a discarded book from off the table as he went. He must have made a commotion as soon enough his ears picked up on footsteps on the stairs, hurrying to climb out of the cellar. 

“Jaskier?!” Geralt! It was Geralt, that’s right, he had been asleep downstairs.

“Over here Geralt!” He called but hadn’t expected for the gap to be closed so quickly, finding himself in the Witcher’s arms almost immediately after seeing him round the corner. Strong hands were in his hair, holding him to Geralt’s chest where Jaskier could clearly hear his heartbeat, “Oh....”

“You’re alright?” 

“Yes, hungry but alright.” The bard reaffirmed, letting his arms slowly wrap around his Witcher’s torso, hands not even meeting in the back, “What happened?”

“Later.” Geralt insisted, nuzzling into Jaskier’s hair.

“What am I now?” He asked.

“Safe.” Was the reply.

“Am I like you?”

“Hmmm...” Jaskier almost choked on that simple reply. He could hear something in it, some lack of knowledge left only implied and never expanded on. Uncertainty.

“Thank you, for saving me.” He whispered, he heard the heart under his ear quicken.

“My lark...” was the soft reverie and it tugged at Jaskier’s heart. He pulled away to look into goldenrod eyes and blinked at the myriad of shades in them, Geralt also seemed taken by something he saw, his catlike eyes adjusting to the firelight, “Your eyes.”

“I never do yours justice do I?” He gave a quirk of a smile when he felt Geralt’s hand caress his cheek before being pulled back into their embrace. Morning light drifting slowly through the windows as they held each other wordlessly, listening only to the evidence of their living, their heartbeats and breathing, their shared warmth chasing away the cold of night to the sound of winter birds and crackle of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re hopeless saps


	7. Small Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast and stories and the comfort of being around the closest to family a Witcher can get.

Soon enough there were busy Witchers upstairs and they ignored Jaskier and Geralt’s hold on each other with a mix of tender happiness and jealousy but no comments were made, no snarks or huffing, just glances and smiles that were so small the bard should have missed them. Geralt only let go to get his lark an apple to sate his incurable hunger a moment while the others made breakfast and chatted with each other, much more talkative in their own company. Jaskier sat at the table with his ruby fruit, gazing at its freckled skin as if he had never seen the like of it before. Soon enough Lambert was followed by Eskel into the small dining space with food that made Dandelion’s stomach jump slightly, a story on his lips.

“This woman insisted she pay me for the Griffin’s head but when I asked her why she said ‘That shit stain ealderman won’t post for it. It’s eating our good fucking cows’.”

“There’s no way that settled well with you.” Eskel chuckled, shaking his head as he set the pot of oats by the fire to stay warm.

“The hell it did, I carried the whole carcass to the man’s door and dragged it onto his roof. Told him he could pay me to remove it.”

“Did he?” Geralt showed interest with a quirk of his brow, getting up to finish setting up with his kin.

“After it bled onto his wife.” That earned a laugh from the others and the further curiousity of the bard.

“Did he say why he wasn’t going to pay you?” Jaskier asked, Lambert only stuttered a moment, a fraction of a second but when their eyes met it was with a soft startle, it didn’t last as the sharp Witcher continued his story.

“Yeah, the woman lived on the border but a different village was responsible for her.” Another set of laughter was brought out of that, “She said she was from Hatchfeld, I charged Hatchfeld and they say she’s from Geary.”

“What about you Geralt? What have you been up to this past year? Or should we ask your bard.” Eskel smirked at the playful ire he got out of Geralt as the Witcher sat at the table.

“And I wonder why I never brought him before.” Geralt smirked, a little pull on his lips, Jaskier watched the movement with complete awe, “As if you two wouldn’t have him hoarse from singing all season.”

“Ah they’re songs for common people that want someone to idolize.” Jaskier shrugged, “I just found someone worth idolizing.”

“So what songs would you sing for Witchers then bard? We haven’t been too privileged with poetry.” Lambert smiled as the last of their group, the elder, joined them for their meal of porridge and cured meat and water. Dandelion missed water.

“Oh goodness, nothing with monsters in them, I have had criticism a plenty on the facts of how they function.” He smiled before taking a deep drink, “Something simple I think. Love songs perhaps.”

“Something we can’t pick apart, clever bard.” Vesemir smirked and the lark went to correct himself.

“I don’t think anyone can pick love apart to examine it, it’s too.....” how to put it... “personal.”

“How so?” Geralt asked, pulling Jaskier from whatever he was thinking to look up into the taller man’s eyes.

“Well...it’s partly feeling and partly action. And don’t feed me that line about Witchers not feeling things, I have seen you furious and frustrated and humored so why not anything else? I’m not afraid to bring up the djinn.”

Geralt groaned and rubbed the back of his neck as Vesemir laughed, “This I should hear, do share what happened with our dear boy and a djinn.”

“Tell him and I break your lute.” The threat was empty and it made the bard laugh.

“You absolutely would not, you’re the one that convinced the elf to give it to me instead of killing me with it.”

“Shit.” Geralt barely whispered the response but it earned more laughter from the group. He couldn’t help but feel warm at it, wherever Jaskier went warmth and smiles followed and it had Geralt himself smiling too.

“He had insomnia for a week and resolved to fish a djinn’s bottle out of a river for it all while calling my singing a pie without filling.” The bard gave the short answer.

“Never that short a story with Geralt.” Eskel smirked, “Where’s the rest of it?”

“No, instead he acted a snark when he thought I was the one that got the wishes and nearly killed me with it mind you. What a epitaph, ‘Here lies Dandelion, killed by sass.’”

Geralt groaned and hid his face, shaking it with a hidden smirk, amazed at how Jaskier could be so light about the topic.

“So he saves me but it’s with the help of an absolutely insane enchantress and then she tried to kill me too. The house exploded, I was so sure they were both dead as doorstops. At least my stupid Witcher got some sleep after that ruckus.”

“And he thinks I have titles for him.” Vesemir shook his head but there was amusement there.

“A djinn for sleep Geralt?” Lambert asked with an incredulous smirk.

“You say that as if it was my first resort.” 

“Was it?”

The pause was long enough to make the group chuckle again and Jaskier was wearing the biggest smile of their company as he leaned against Geralt, only earning a glance from the Witcher before he felt Geralt leaning back against him too. Jaskier’s breath took a moment to catch up with him as he relaxed lost in wonderment at the touch of their shoulders and heads.

“I really should write a song about that.” He mused.

“You really shouldn’t.” Geralt flung back a little too quickly for it not to amuse the bard.


	8. Concede

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small test for the bard.
> 
> Once upon a long time ago a lovely Greek gay couple were on the banks of a river when Calamus fell in and drowned, turning into reeds.
> 
> Jaskier is Big Bi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all see this?

With breakfast packed away and the group mutually satisfied of their hunger, four Witchers sat with one newborn mutant and remained conflicted on how to address the elephant in the room.

“It didn’t quite go as expected.” Lambert shrugged, “Is it bad?”

“I’m not in pain.” Jaskier blinked in confusion, “What’s wrong?”

“You have cat eyes.” Geralt tried to be nonchalant about it but Jaskier could hear the crack buried under the practiced sediment of indifference.

“Do you think they aren’t lovely?”

“He asks how they look first.” Vesemir dragged a hand over his face, it reminded him of when he still taught children about what life was as one of them. Eyes big with the same wonder and forgetting the implications of their state.

Geralt shifted, bit his lip from the inside, barely visible as a tug on it, his brows knit towards each other but not enough to express much, just a sense, looking at his hands. He didn’t verbally respond.

“You’re a mutant now Jaskier and it shows on your face. People will treat you poorly for being different.” Vesemir stitched the truth together and laid it flat on the table, “Some will be scoffing, some will be violent. You aren’t a Witcher, but you look like one.”

“Well I’m a sissy half-calamite too you don’t see me letting anyone set on me.”

Geralt choked on the sentence Jaskier tossed into their conversation as if it were a just a token in a wishingwell.

“Knew it.” Lambert pounded the table with a laugh.

“If I can make a continent love Geralt I can make them love me.” The Bard took on a look of defiant determination, “I certainly don’t see why not.”

“Well at least that is settled.” Vesemir smiled warmly in a way that dragged Jaskier’s heart back into its youth to what he had desperately hoped to see in his father’s face and he felt his ribs ached at it.

“I wonder how that happened, we weren’t actively seeking to change his abilities of perception.” Eskel scratched at his speckling shadow of a beard left as yet unshaved, “Maybe the Cat potion left a mark on him, his body could have mutated to adapt.”

It wasn’t a far leap and Geralt found himself soothing at the thought it might just be a necessary result to curing his bard.

“What all did you change anyway?” Jaskier looked over himself.

“Health. Stamina.” The two sole words Geralt said in reply, running his thumb over his knuckles.

“One to cure you and make you resistant to any further poisoning attempts. The other so you can run away from danger, endlessly if need be.” Eskel smiled, proud of his work. It had been a mutation to be sure but this was a man, not a child, and their efforts saved his life, something he couldn’t be displeased with.

“Endlessly? Oh damn now I have no excuse to ride Roach.” Jaskier pouted, partly real, mostly playful.

“He let you ride Roach?” Lambert sounded incredulous.

“Once.” Geralt corrected.

“Twice counting the ride here.” Jaskier smiled before stretching with a grunt and scratching his arm where the needle had been, already healed, “Well I am certainly not making it to the Marquess this winter, what should we do with all this time?”

“How good of a swordsman are you?” Vesemir asked curiously.

“Oh I studied swordplay in my younger youth, do you practice?” The lark seemed excited to test metals with the elder, a mistake Geralt was sure, it earned Jaskier a smile.

“Let’s train, always good to stay practiced.” Vesemir offered.

Metal rang through the inner courtyard, Jaskier now wore one of Geralt’s black shirts and a pair of leather trousers to stay dry should he hit the snow, despite his small stature Jaskier had insisted on a two handed blade and he seemed to be more suited for it even if it looked almost like a caricature on him.

“Watch your footing.” Vesemir corrected as they went back and forth with each other, “You’re too wide, you’ll topple.”

“And you’re too old.” Jaskier playfully lashed before getting knocked off his feet with a sweeping kick and into the aforementioned snow.

“So talkative. Focus on your physical battle more than your verbal one.” Still, the elder was smiling as he helped Jaskier to his feet.

“How are you managing that sword?” Lambert was befuddled, “I took you more for someone with a rondel or a rapier.”

“I like the weight.” Jaskier smiled, “Like a solid lute.” 

“You attack with your lute?” Eskel blinked in confusion.

“Oh gods no, that’s blasphemy.” He gawked.

“Why not show us what you can do when you aren’t talking.” Vesemir smiles as he asked.

“Gag him first.” Geralt joked, “You won’t get him to shut up just by asking.”

“The both of you then, how kind of you for volunteering Geralt.” The elder nudged him out of his seat with his boot, giving them each a strip of fabric, “First one to cry out concedes defeat.”

“With bare blades?” Jaskier asked curiously.

“Your mutations will see anything done by a mere blade easy enough to mend. For now however we’ll be employing dulled practice swords.” The answer satisfied the bard but didn’t put Geralt to too much ease as they each took a gag and tied them between their teeth, leaving the knot to bite down on. Dandelion picked up the bihänder and swung a small circle with his wrist before making sure the blade was dull. Geralt chose a longsword from the supply on the weapons rack and stepped into the circle. Jaskier grinned despite his gag and held his sword up in front of his face in friendly salute, a gesture only briefly mimicked before Geralt took an offensive stance, hilt loose in his hand, point to the ground.

They circled each other Jaskier taking defensive at full gate, hands clasped at guard and secondary, tilting the pommel toward his opponent. Jaskier watched Geralt’s feet and when the Witcher moved to strike he sidestepped and slid blade against blade on his guarded side to keep steel from hitting him should the man move before batting back to avoid getting rasped on the knuckles unprotected by the guard.

“Excellent reading Jaskier, make sure to consider a counter when taking defensive.” Vesemir instructed and the bard hummed in affirmative.

Geralt moves again and Jaskier batted away his blade sooner before bending at his knees and smacking him in the shins.

“Careful, that’s an easy way to get trapped.” The elder warned and Geralt demonstrated with a smack to the head with his hilt.

The bard scrambled to his feet and shook his head, quickly blinking off the hit and taking offensive, feinting to the left before going for a thrust but Geralt smacked the blade away and tried to take the opening when his bard danced backwards and resteadied himself. Back and forth they went, but Jaskier never tried to make an actual attack and it made it difficult for Geralt to calmly approach what was becoming a frustrating match.

“More confidence bard, hit him, he’s not fragile.” Eskel encouraged.

“Give Geralt of Rivia some humility!” Lambert cheered.

Jaskier still hesitated but when Geralt stepped on his blade, pressing the weak into the ground he retorted by throwing his foot above his head and kicking the Witcher in his face. Geralt stumbled back a pace and Jaskier took the shot he had to strike him in the ribs. He couldn’t parry the larger man’s retaliation, his shoulder suffering the blow with a tight inhale. Jaskier could smell the blood in Geralt’s nose as he pressed forward to thrust and be blocked. Again, a swing and a block and parry the incoming and try to attack again. What had been an arm’s length dual now held close quarters as they moved back and forth at the attack and defense and counter. The trio of witnesses cheered and advised at first until Geralt moved to bodily push Jaskier, their swords clashing with some sparks and the bard holding ground, pressing back himself. They hushed as the yard filled only with ragged breathing as the Witchers witnessed what they could only really describe as some steel filled courtship ritual.

The tension wasn’t left only to the spectators, Geralt had a flush of more than exertion to his face and Jaskier felt some smallness at being on the receiving end of the Witcher’s attacks, wholly taken in when Geralt made a quick two-step towards him and swept him off his feet from behind his ankle, leaving Jaskier on his back with a blunt point to his throat, hovering above it. He looked up to see Geralt pulling off the gag, moving his blade before offering a hand and helping him to his feet.

“Vesemir is right.” Geralt returned his blade to the rack, “Your footing needs work.” 

And with that Geralt headed back inside, leaving Jaskier to wonder if the others saw that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ummmm....what was that?


	9. Unwed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Witchers smile like they speak. Not much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’re not sneaky

More training, some small, well not really small, more like crucial, improvements to form, an attempt at magic only to shrug at it and Jaskier felt more at home with the trio of Geralt’s kin, the closest thing to it anyway. The bard was jovial enough to play a few songs that evening during their dinner, that particular meal wasn’t spectacular either but the lark still perched and ate and sang as he was want to do, going back on his own words of avoiding monster songs from that morning.

“I know it isn’t real but it’s fun to make stories.” He waves it off to avoid criticism before getting Vesemir riled into cross examining the creatures he sung of anyway. It became a game, the group would listen to a first part of song and sort through traits, hear the next bit, make stakes as to what it could be and when the last verse passed their ears would go through their books to find which was closest and the winner would get a smack over the head if he was smug.

It had taken some prying by Eskel to get Geralt out of his room to join the festivities downstairs but that night they were all together and it was the most wonderful thing Dandelion had been privileged to see in years. Witchers did feel things, in their own company they held their best conversations, the expressions were small and their tones well even but now a mutant himself Jaskier could hear and see and note each instance of emotion.

“You lot have lovely smiles.” He spoke up from the windowsill he sat in, transformed eyes looking over them teal blue and shimmer gold, forming shoots like grain reflecting into a deep pool on a summer day, Geralt shook his head but Jaskier could still see it, “No really,” he insisted, “They’re small but they are there. Vesemir for instance, you smile with your eyes mostly. You get a little crinkle in them at the corners. And Eskel, you keep it mostly on the side of your face, I know why of course but it comes out with amusement, I bet you love jokes.”

“And how’s that then?” Eskel asked, whittling away at a small branch he had determined to make into a bear.

“Let’s see.” Jaskier strummed to think, “Earlier this morning, you were trading jabs with Geralt, you found yourself funny.”

“He’s hilarious.” Geralt said dryly and got a punch in the shoulder for it.

“Lambert you’re expressive in general, at least here you are, I imagine the men you go to retrieve your coin from don’t humor you much but I’ve yet to see you stone faced.”

“Keep talking bard maybe I’ll show you real humor.” Lambert joked leaving Jaskier to pretend to be threatened.

“Oh no, how dreadful.” He laughed, “I’ll surely meet my doom and after all that effort on your part.”

“How does Geralt emote then? You’ve been with him longest.” Eskel asked and noted the way the lark paused, licking his lips.

“He’s....a little trickier. It’s his entire disposition I think. It’s not one notable thing but....everything.”

Geralt tilted his head and looked up at the bard silently, raising a brow at him.

“There!” Jaskier smiles. “The ‘You think you have me pegged’ look.”

Geralt recorrected, brows more closely put together, a twinge in his jaw, and again Jaskier pointed it out, “The ‘How did you get that?’”

Another shift, “Oh now he’s irritated.”

“You’ve been traveling with him for over a decade, if you couldn’t read Geralt by now then you’d never decipher him.” Vesemir laughed and Dandelion smiled as those crows feet wrinkled again.

Jaskier bit the corner of his cheek and thought it all over. He must be the most determined person in the spheres to still be pursuing his Witcher. He had thought of leaving before, just not showing up come spring but there he found himself, back in that tavern with flowers in his hair and his bag packed, his will to leave dead in winter.

“Another round shall we? Your efforts in my resurrection only serves to make me restless.” He strummed to find a chord.

Geralt relaxed, eager for something to take him out of the center of attention, “Shit, I made a grave for myself.”

The lark smiled, somewhat sadly, more bashful at his own thoughts of being the body beside in the earth, a dark romantic notion.

“Cast me away   
my darling I find myself quaking in   
The sway of our village  
The darkness we knew and feared   
We would deplete in is nowhere to be seen   
But depleted I have been.”

“A challenge now bard?” Eskel chewed the lyrics over, “An undead?”

“That’s not a small category at all.” Geralt huffed. 

“It’s a village....hard to tell what kind.” Lambert scratched behind his head as he leaned.

“Does the kind of village make a difference?” Jaskier asked curiously.

“Villages that get more traffic can get more intense specters. Mostly because of the kind of men that travel through them.”

“Oh that always bodes well for us.” Eskel groaned.

Jaskier hummed at the information before he played again;

“Though tired and alone  
I wait for you to never come  
Our love had at last begun   
and yet your grace never knew my bed.   
As hands never met in the field we tred.”

It clicked for Geralt and he swallowed dryly, “A noonwraith.”

“He hasn’t even finished his song.” Lambert looked to the Witcher curiously.

“It’s a love song, in broad daylight. She’s already dead.” Geralt replied.

“Could get more intense, I’ll say it’s a penitent.” Eskel leaned back, he had certainly had more experience with such creatures.

“Only one verse left....I’ll stake with Geralt then.” Lambert shrugged.

“If you’d only round with me my love,   
though the fire takes my hide,  
We could bond again, hand in hand  
And dance until both we die.”

“Noonwraith.” Geralt nodded, glanced up at Jaskier and failed to swallow down his mistake of words, “A lover left unwed.”

“Oh...” Dandelion gripped his lute, knuckles white. Geralt looked over that face with regret at being right, his lark swallowed again and again but failed to push down the knot inside him. The bard swept away the tension best he could with an upbeat tune but everyone felt that. Everyone saw and Vesemir silently shook his head at two morons that were ever too afraid to move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone saw that


	10. The Forest Has Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Witchers share one braincell and it’s currently with Vesemir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t agree to rope without question

Geralt was confusing Jaskier more than usual, at times they were close enough to kiss, the bard almost convinced that he saw golden eyes flick down to his lips before pulling away and then leaving him alone to go read from the books the keep held, avoiding him until the next meal they shared, dragged out by a brother. Dandelion wasn’t the only one to notice the flighty dance the Witcher was doing but Lambert was out of the loop on the cause and after a month of watching Geralt swing wildly through dispositions the sharply groomed man approached Jaskier with a plan to have peace again.

“Jaskier,” he jogged up to where the bard was writing in his song journal and paused to glance blankly at the pages, seeing but not really reading, “what is that? Never mind, listen. You’ve noticed how Geralt’s been acting lately right?”

“How could I not, he’s been hardly a sight in a week.” The lark grimaced, putting his book away.

“I have a plan.”

“I’m listening....”

Lambert was hardly contained as he sat on the battery with the bard and warmed his hands against each other, “So, there’s this trial young witchers go through—“

“No no no, I am good on needles for the rest of my unearthly days thank you.” 

“Not like that.” Lambert tisked, “Its just a test.”

“What kind of test?” Came the query.

“It’s called the Trial of Forest Eyes.”

“You witchers sure love giving your trials cryptic names.” He huffed.

“It’s just a ride out into the valley, you find your way back by morning and you pass.”

“And this helps....how?”

“Shows him you can take care of yourself. He worries about you you know.” At that Jaskier groaned and wiped a hand over his face, looking between his fingers out to the valley.

“Alright, when do we go?” 

“Night fall, no need to pack.” Lambert grinned wickedly and jumped over the back of their seat to scale impressively down the wall.

“You’re mad Lambert!” Jaskier called after him only to hear laughter.

It was dark, for more reasons than it being night, Jaskier sat on the back of the reckless Witcher’s gelding, side saddle and set between Lambert’s arms to keep him from falling off as Jaskier felt the changes in incline.

“Any reason for the blindfold?” He asked.

“Can’t have you just memorizing the way back.” Came the answer.

“And the whole binding my wrists and ankles part?” The lark prodded.

“You’ll be fine.” Lambert chuckled, “I pulled this course much younger than you, and without any mutations. You just need to get back by morning, plenty of time.”

“Right, not like these woods are scarce of giant insects.” Jaskier huffed.

“It’s winter, they won’t be active.” That didn’t comfort the bard at all.

“Right, just trust that they aren’t awake I’ll be fine.”

“Right.” Damn this man was dense.

“So, I just find my way back. How do I get out of the rope?”

“Get creative, nature is full of sharp things.”

“Perfect.” 

They stopped and Lambert pulled Jaskier onto his shoulder and set him in the snow. The bard heard him get back on his horse and call back, “Good luck.”

The first thing Jaskier did was find a tree to nudge the blindfold from his eyes and blink as he adjusted to the view. Dark, still very dark. “Might as well still be blinded.” He huffed but his hands were behind his back so he couldn’t easily untie his ankles. If only he had that acrobat from Oxenfurt’s flexibility, he’d just step backwards through his own arms and have them at the front of him. 

He examined his environment until he found a root to hook the heel of his boot into and pull his foot out from the item, gasping at how cold the air was to his previously guarded toes. He kicked off his other boot and stood, shuddering at the snow under foot. “He owes me a warm bath.” 

He grabbed the boots with some difficulty and held them by their rope before following the smell of horses back toward the keep.

Geralt searched the halls, the old guard house, the stables, noted Lambert and Jaskier missing and it had him on edge. Not that he didn’t trust Lambert but it was the middle of the night and the pair were nowhere to be seen.

When Lambert rode back in through the gate he smelled like Jaskier and Geralt watched him with a defensive twinge, “Where’s Jaskier?”

“He’s on his way back.” Came the short reply.

“From where?” 

“The western ridge, shouldn’t take him too long.” 

“What is he doing on the western ridge?”

“When did you start to care?” That got Geralt to snap back.

“What did you do?!” The noise brought the others out from the inner courtyard.

“I’m sorry, since when did you start being his keeper? You hardly set down and talk with him anymore and now you care? He’s a grown man Geralt, not some fucking child.” Lambert hissed back, “You treat him with the same callous caution you give anything you don’t expect to last and then turn around to pretend you actually give a shit.”

“Lambert you fucking shit.” Geralt wanted to pummel him, taking only a step forward before Eskel and Vesemir got between them.

“We won’t learn anything with fists Geralt.” Vesemir smacked Lambert over the head, “What did you do with the bard?”

“Ow,” the youngest rubbed the back of his head, “he’s running the Trial of Forest Eyes, he’s already on his way back anyway.”

“Lambert we made him a good runner not a furnace he can still freeze out there, it’s fucking winter.” Eskel gawked and Vesemir delivered another cuff to his head.

“Think before you do things.”

“I’m back!” The group froze, heads turning to see Jaskier in the gate way, bare feet muddy and legs snow caked, arms still tied behind him with a smile on his face that quickly morphed into his characteristic expression of tense optimism, “ahhhh this plan backfired horribly didn’t it....”

Geralt’s face fell into relief, pained and full of something the bard couldn’t pin point. Eskel didn’t stop him from making long strides to his bard and sweeping the man into his arms, getting the lark off his frozen feet.

“What am I missing here?” Lambert was very confused but he got another palm to the head for his efforts to question, “Ow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’re so stupid, they’re so fucking stupid


	11. Lock Your Daughters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gives an explanation to his quick recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter for some exposition and pinning.

A quick use of Igni lit a small fire in the guard house and Geralt held Jaskier off the ground in his lap, warming his feet and dusting off the snow. Lambert finally understood the whole picture and felt very conflicted on how to address it. He wanted so badly to just say what everyone was thinking but Eskel made him swear to silence and it ate the young Witcher from the inside. It was so obvious, it was painfully obvious now with the bard lounging in Geralt’s lap like he were an oversized chair, rubbing the memory of rope from his freed wrists. Lambert got a dark look from Geralt when he moved to sit by the fire but he ignored it in favor of trying to get a story out of it, “How did you get down here so quickly?”

“Oh ho, this isn’t the first time I’ve been tied up in the middle of nowhere. I’ll admit it was easy to follow the smell of horses back here so that certainly helped but I happen to be an excellent escape artist.” Jaskier smiled crossing his ankles, enjoying something he was sure was temporary and most definitely not any form of deeper attempt at affection on Geralt’s part. Geralt had his destined lover already, Yennefer was bound to him and him to her and all the love songs in Temeria would never change magic bonds. This wasn’t some fairy tale where Chaos just did what you desperately hoped it would. So he stretched out to take all he could of his Witcher’s attention and body under his own, selfish and hesitant as he was, “Let’s see....the first time wasn’t too graceful I’ll be honest, I had been caught with pulling the heartstrings of a lovely young thing that called herself Anika. She told me that her physical sex was only a fraction of her being and I had been so deeply compelled to seek her out to see for myself the beauty, god like I was assured, how could any mere mortal resist. When I arrived at her chambers she was the most entrancing thing I had ever seen and so I immediately bedded with her, I had to get her under my skin and she was just as eager to oblige. She did insist on a blindfold for her own comfort, something I simply don’t do anymore, not without more reassurance at least because right in the thick of it her father came home. He was the local lord’s best huntsman and he was not at all pleased at the sight of his daughter deflowering me. He trussed me up and dumped me naked by the river to be drowner food!”

Geralt relaxed back against the cool of the stone wall to listen and shake his head in quiet amusement. At least here in moment he could hold to his flighty little bird and have him to himself before he sought out his next conquest, “Practice doesn’t make pulling what you did any less stupid.”

“It does make it easier though.” He grinned mischievously, earning him an eye roll and a twinge of smile that made his heart jump. He swallowed dryly and shifted in the lap that held him to face away from that all too lovely all too spectacular smile.

“How many times has someone tried leaving you to die somewhere?” Eskel’s face pulled a look of incredulous confusion.

“Oh goodness...ahh....enough to lose an exact count.”

“Too many.” Geralt chuckled.

“The world is full of too many gorgeous things to let a little rope get in the way Geralt.” Dandelion smirked and their company exchanged looks of knowing exasperation at their self imposed vows of secrecy as the pair got absorbed in trading verbal lashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lock your door next time.


	12. Something Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To stay alive means to stay at your best condition but Geralt needs to remind Jaskier and himself that the bard isn’t a Witcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boot camp

With the Trial of Forest Eyes completed so quickly, it had Vesemir curious as to the complete capability of their bard and he didn’t hesitate to find out, waking the bard early the next morning before the sun created beams of light to shine over the crumbling keep.

It was with a wide yawn that Jaskier joined the rest of the residents in their dining nook, it certainly wasn’t a room or a hall, one of its walls was missing and the other was a bookshelf. The only two confused patrons of this early rise were Geralt and his lark, the other three looked well smug but neither the Witcher nor the bard could puzzle out why.

“Little early for breakfast don’t you think?” Jaskier yawned.

“Not for training though.” Vesemir had crinkled eyes and now even a bit of teeth in his smile. Oh no.

“Oh no.” The bard groaned.

“Time to see what you are capable of bard, up and at them.” And with that Vesemir tossed a bundle into his arms, studded leather armor and a silver medallion of a wolf head on a silver chain, “You’re not a Witcher, but you’re a wolf now.”

Geralt looked to his mentor incredulously but Vesemir paid the look no heed as he went to lead the other two out, Eskel and Lambert looking just as excited when then urged Jaskier out of the keep.

Jaskier dressed himself in his own armor, insisting he knew how to put on his own clothes thank you. They were a weight to be sure but not too uncomfortable of one, then they gave him the practice sword and he had to admit how heavy the entire put together was. Geralt bit his tongue, uncomfortable with seeing his bard dressed up like a Witcher, even if he wasn’t one.

“This is an awful lot for training.” The lark protested, shifting from foot to foot to find a good way to stand with all this weight.

“It’s just to provide resistance.” Eskel smiled, “We aren’t looking to make you a target Jaskier, the armor doesn’t have to leave the valley.”

That soothed the bard just as it soothed Geralt, enough to entertain the idea of what they were doing today. With that discomfort out of the way the rest of them dressed likewise and headed out the gate at a jogging pace, a horse packed and Lambert carrying a larger pack with him, some punishment for sending the bard off into the snowy night alone no doubt.  
They headed south, across the river before turning east and up the ridge, the sun rise breaking over the mountains as they reached the clearing Vesemir was looking for and they worked together to make a camp there. Looked like they’d be there for the next few days but Geralt knew better. They’d be out here a week at least.

“Pair up, Lambert, you’re not going anywhere near Geralt and I’m sure he wouldn’t want you paired with Jaskier so you’re with Eskel. Geralt I expect you to be a good teacher for him.” Vesemir nodded to himself but Geralt wasn’t quite comfortable with that reasoning.

“Why don’t you train him then?”

“I’m busy.” Came the reply, Eskel and Lambert seemed too pleased to get at each other, already beginning their sword practice. Geralt shook his head and approached Jaskier with the same speed he used when he was aggravated as the bard noted, tensing already before noticing Geralt noticing him and pausing to breathe, moving slower. Was Geralt being.....considerate? That couldn’t be right, he was being cautious.

“I’m not going to break Geralt.” He tried to reassure, a tug at the Witcher’s lips and a tilt of his head but his eyes seemed sad, Jaskier chose not to point it out, “Teach me like you wish you were taught.”

That had Geralt’s face moving again, literally to the other side, shrugging, “Ready position.”

Dandelion obliged and readied himself as Geralt took his own practice blade and stood at defensive, “You can’t hesitate on the attack in a real fight, anyone you point your blade at you intend to kill, understand?” Jaskier nodded, “Good, attack.”

The bard swung, was parried, went slightly off balance and Geralt tripped him for it, “Footing. Your weight never belongs in your sword, only in your feet. Again.”

The bard would attack, the Witcher would parry and correct and back and forth this went till the day star hung high in the sky, the pair of them silently wondering when Jaskier would tire. Jaskier even wondered if he could anymore but their answer came with a hunger pang and the lark groused about it with a huff.

Bread and stew served as their first meal of the day, the group of five settling together by a crackling fire and Jaskier had a question picking at his brain, “Why is it you all come back here every winter?”

That received a pause and a flurry of expressions to flit across faces before Eskel shrugged, “It’s home.”

“Closest thing to it a Witcher can get.” Lambert tisked.

“I assume you afford to hole up here for the season from the work you do elsewhere then. No wonder Geralt’s a stickler on coin.”

The Witcher hummed in affirmation.

“It’s all rather...cruel. Isn’t it.” Jaskier bit his cheek and his face scrunched at the thought of it. No one argued to say he was wrong.

“Humans don’t like Witchers, think we’re monsters like what we hunt.” Eskel grimaced at his bowl, “Makes me wonder what the difference is.”

“Coin.” Lambert spat to the side, “What I’d give to see the bastards that commission for death stuck in the shoes of any dryad or wraith they send us after.”

“There’s no joy in denying the dead vengeance.” Eskel agreed.

“Imagine being angry enough that your soul doesn’t leave after you die.” Jaskier shook his head.

“Some beasts are truly dangerous and need culling, that’s the bulk of our work but not all of it.” Vesemir leaned back onto his elbow, “The Path demands neutrality, if we take a job we complete it, that is all.”

The conversation left something gnashing in the bard, a conflicted discomfort that Geralt must have picked up on as after only a small segment of time, he had Jaskier following him further up the hill on a beaten trail, winding through the wood. The sun trickled faintly through the evergreen trees and for a moment it felt to the pair of them like summer, just the two of them walking through the wilderness, Jaskier only needed his lute in his hands but the Witcher hadn’t allowed him time to grab it from camp.

They made it to a small outcrop of stone, the view of the snowy valley as beautiful as the sun was blinding and the pair sat on the rock together.

“Look around Jaskier,” Geralt offered, “What do you see.”

“I see...a home, torn apart, a gorgeous valley floor ahhh...blue sky and forest green.“

“Hmmm. Poetic.” Geralt looked out himself, breathing in the cold air with some satisfaction.

“What do you see?” 

“...Life.” Geralt took a moment to think, this was all looking like Vesemir trying to make another Witcher despite the reassurances that he wasn’t. Every winter they had this week out in the hills to train and keep themselves ready. Keep them from slowing down and not coming back, “The Path is a code for Witchers, it’s what humans expect from us. I don’t want that for you.”

“What do you want?” The lark asked, breath taken at the idea of Geralt wanting something for him.

“I want you to be better. I have to follow the Path, you don’t. Don’t let coin or neutrality take fate from someone’s grasp. Find something better.”

The bard scooted closer, leaning against Geralt and taking his hand in his own, tracing seam of the leather gloves, “I think you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Hmmmm,” he leaned back into his lark and breathed, he wanted to take that hand between his fingers, tangle them together in a promise that they would find something better but he couldn’t risk losing Jaskier, not after all he had done to keep him, “One can only hope.”

Together they moved back down, Jaskier holding onto the hand that led him more slowly now, pointing out new insects and birds and asking what they were to patient replies and sometimes a pause to observe the deer of the valley from further off. When they arrived again, everyone noted them holding hands but were certain that their task of waking the pair of sleeping men to their mutual attraction wasn’t complete as Geralt and Jaskier picked up where they left off in training, the clash of metal on metal in the air again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not long now


	13. Gold and Jewel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve waited a long time for this shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets gay now

The next few days in the training camp were peaceful, tensions between Lambert and Geralt soothed as time and understanding passed them and eventually the three younger Witchers were training Jaskier together. Swordsmanship, herbalism, monsters and the differences between sub-species and magic defense, and ever the academic, the Bard absorbed their words with a hungry mind, drinking down their knowledge with a thirst that was unable to be contained and proved restless when they taught him meditation, the strange practice of slipping back into yourself for all manner of purpose. Pain mitigation, to be near sleep yet aware at any moment, healing, even preparation for intense battle. Still Dandelion struggled to take his focus away from the world around him and turn it inward.

“You’re still moving.” Geralt smirked, bemused by Jaskier’s childish wriggling.

“There’s probably a rock under my knee.” Came the distressed reply.

“We’re kneeling entirely on rocks.”

“Right....I am trying.”

“Accept the rock Jaskier, it’s just a rock.” Geralt let his eyes slip back closed, “Acknowledge the rock and go back to your breathing.”

“Right.” Slowly In, let it settle, back out, let it rest. He remembered breathing like this before and the pain of the memory shot through his chest like an arrow. Acknowledge the thought, go back to breathing. Needles. No! Just breathe. Poison. Choking on his own breathing. Bright light, brighter than the sun. Breathe. Breathe slowly. Don’t sob, don’t break out of the meditation, even thinking all this is failing isn’t it. He dropped out of his own head and straight onto his hands, pulling the other three with him from their internal rest.

“Jaskier?” Why did that voice sound so soft and worried in his ears. The bard wiped his eyes and took a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding, shaky and sore. He could see past the second layer of gravel to the soil, the insects that skittered there crawling across his mind before he was pulled away by his Witcher, his face in Geralt’s hands, those brilliant, beautiful eyes watching his face, golden at first perhaps but Jaskier could see what else lay under the web of brilliant yellow, the blue and green that hid there like jewels in a crown or wildflowers in a field of grain.

Breathe, in and hold and out and hold. Geralt had been guiding him through meditation back in the cellar, holding his hand and not letting go, not letting Jaskier slip away from him. He sobbed aloud for a different reason and held onto his Witcher for dear life.

“Breathe.” Jaskier clung to the order and nodded. The dumb mutant had no idea how much Jaskier wanted him, to love him to tell Geralt he loved him. He could hold this at least and methodically breathed, replacing each intruding thought with Geralt’s brilliant and bewitching eyes, slowly understanding as it became easier, to focus back on breathing and finding himself in a floating black expanse of himself. Things were and that was ok. Memories passed and that was ok too. He just needed to breathe, in and hold and out and hold, given to him by the man that he loved and only hoped loved him.

That night, when the darkness blanketed the world, Jaskier got his first posting as the watchman for the night, and couldn’t resist sitting at the edge of the hill crest with his lute and his songbook, softly playing and singing, letting the night drag by as he worked on something he had been meaning to finish but never to play.

“The seasons turn my darling  
The summer’s o’er  
The leaves they fall  
And as the fork draws near  
I hear the strangled call

I cannot help my love  
But fear our hands removed  
The winter, she is coming  
And I know she’s taking you.

To tempest dark or warm abode  
I must face alone  
The longer nights without your warmth  
To wait until the morn.

I freeze out in this bitter cold  
But burn away inside  
My heart would surely fly to you  
If it knew where you hide

And so my hibernating lover  
Though the days are short  
I’ll use them to honor  
You my tongue shall only praise  
My lips will only court you—“

“Shit, what do I put there?” He groused over his own lyrics, his ears perking at the sound of shifted gravel and swifter than sleeping breathing, he turned to see Geralt framed by the moonlight and watched as the giant of a man drew closer, sitting with him on the hill.

“Can’t sleep?” He waited for some comment about his racket which he was now well aware of thanks to his unnatural hearing.

“Mmmm.” Was only reply, there was a question, a thought that pressed to be voiced, “New song?”

“Old one...it’s not finished.” He set his lute down and looked at his hands, “I don’t think I ever will finish it.”

“Why?” A simple word with too many implications.

“Ha...I can never quite pin it down long enough to stay.” He mused.

“Who is it about?” Oh what a loaded question.

“Who I always sing about Geralt...”

“Hmmm.” Geralt didn’t get it.

“You, you idiot.” Jaskier broke, a shaky smile, a couple of nervous tears, “It’s always been about you. I know you don’t want anyone wanting you but.... I can’t help myself Geralt. I’ve thought of leaving and never coming back and yet every spring I find myself waiting for you, back at that inn with flowers in my hair as if it would make you notice me, like a maiden waiting for her beloved after a war. I know you don’t love me but—“ his ranting was forcibly stopped as Geralt pulled his bard into his lap and kissed him, deeply, longingly, breathlessly. Jaskier has to pull away to gasp for air.

“You’re a stupid bard and I’m a stupid Witcher.” Geralt growled.

“Oh stars.” The lark could only gape a bit like a fish out of water.

“I love you Jaskier. Before I even knew what love was I loved you.”

“Kiss me again, I need to know I’m not dreaming this.” 

Geralt obliged with a bite of his bard’s lip, tugging it and shooting a spark of shock down Jaskier’s spine with a gasp.

“Finally!” The pair looked over Geralt’s shoulder to see Eskel and Lambert sitting outside Eskel’s tent, Lambert slapped his own knee, “You two are painful to watch, you know that?!” Geralt threw a handful of gravel at them, shooing them back under the canvas.

“I love you Geralt.” Jaskier leaned into his Witcher and relaxed at the pleased hum that vibrated through his broad chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience


	14. Call to Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Winter over, the Witchers part ways, a parting gift is bestowed.

The winter neared it’s death and everyone packed their things readying for another separation to tend to to the needs of people that didn’t love them. Jaskier made sure he had all his things, happy they had packed Roach before they went back in for their food that early morning at the cusp of snow, when Vesemir called him over to their comfortable nook, a place that the bard was already writing a song about, about his winter with monster hunters and their smiles. He lovingly traced the stones, remembering the nights filled with song and stories and laughter and it was better than any empty evening cooing at a countess as he now had Geralt of Rivia as his own, the Witcher’s scent was in the clothes he stole and the bard found himself stealing them now, draped in uncharacteristic black as he strolled in.

“I’ll miss the season here.” Jaskier smiled as he joined the others at the table, sliding as close to Geralt as the boundaries of their flesh would let them get.

“There will be another winter next year.” Geralt offered to which the bard groaned.

“I promised Oxenfurt to give a seminar this next winter.” He poured, “Damn my brilliance.”

Geralt chuckled at the hubris, a low soft rumble that led the lark to close his eyes, “Then there will be another winter after that.”

“I’ll be sure to find new music, you lot are greedy for that monster cataloging game of yours.”

“It’s a catchy game.” Eskel gave his sideways smile and took a swig from his cup, ale for their last meal before parting ways.

“You’ll have two years to do it so they better be good songs.” Lambert huffed after, “I want a challenge, and no cheating Geralt.”

Geralt only smiled, “No promises.”

“Watch, I’ll specifically come back with only songs about drowners and the only lines will be gurgling nonsense.” The bard declared to the amusement of his company.

“There’s something we want you to have before you depart Jaskier.” Vesemir smiled as he hoisted a darkly packaged item from behind him, laying the long parcel on the table with a substantial thud. Carefully, Dandelion pulled the fabric away, his breath catching in his throat as he carefully took hold of the hilt to a silver Bidenhänder, the blade ringing as he pulled it from its swaddling. It was surely the most extravagant thing the Bard now owned, the sword itself was as tall as he was exactly, protective runes carved into its exotic leather Ricasso, the wild flowers that formed the cruciform and the parry guard and the bite when he tested its sharpness with his thumb.

“Vesemir....I don’t know what to say, she’s gorgeous.” He passed her from hand to hand, “And her weight! She’s perfectly balanced.”

“She’s silver.” Geralt cocked his head and his brow at his mentor.

“When in doubt, silver’s the route Geralt.” Dandelion mused before looking at the group that was giving him looks of contentious confusion, “What? Oh come on, that’s a perfect phrase, rhymes and everything.”

Vesemir chuckled, “Its a precaution Geralt. He may need it should he find himself separated from you, regardless of how much you think you can protect him.”

“I shall name her Thistle.” Jaskier grinned only to get more looks, “You know, the story of the keep with thistles growing where the moat was? They fended off invaders? You lot are no fun.” Eskel smiled and shook his head as Jaskier sat with his present in his lap like a baby, “She’s truly splendid, thank you.”

“I’ll never see a soul out of my care without being prepared, think nothing of it dear boy.” Jaskier felt his heart warm at the statement and the five enjoyed the last of their company before once again mounting up and parting ways with hopeful promises of seeing each other again the next snowfall.

Jaskier walked beside Roach with a song already on his lips as they headed south out of the basin and towards the call of adventure, a song on his lips.

“The sun is warming on my skin.  
Hey! The call to adventure now begins!  
Though the world tries,  
With all it’s might,  
It cannot have my head tonight!

Look there good fellow,  
The White Wolf prowls  
Where he will lead you is mystery now  
Still I shall follow,  
Hand in hand,  
My Love and my Darling  
Firebrand!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is far from over

**Author's Note:**

> He’ll be fine....probably


End file.
